


When are you going to betray me ?

by LB_Mamba



Series: A Tale of Trust, Betrayal, Death and Rebirth [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (he fails), Angst, Betrayal, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Jschlatt Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt Needs a Hug, Jschlatt has issues and tries to deal with them, Jschlatt-centric, Mental Breakdown, Morally Ambiguous Character, Morally Ambiguous Jschlatt, Paranoia, Pre- and Post-Manberg Festival, Quackity needs a Hug, Swearing, Then, Traitor Quackity (kinda ?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27588707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LB_Mamba/pseuds/LB_Mamba
Summary: Schlatt wants to do good, he really wants to. He likes Quackity.But he's scared. He's going to get betrayed, he knows he is.So he tries to deal with it. And he fucks up, like he always does.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt
Series: A Tale of Trust, Betrayal, Death and Rebirth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033662
Comments: 28
Kudos: 330





	1. It felt right

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting a story in English and I'm not a native, so please do tell me about the mistakes you see X)  
> I really, really love Quackity and Schlatt's friendship, but this is my attempt at explaining the potential reasons behind Schlatt's actions, so I had to make them fight :') Kind of canon compliant ? But not the actual dialogue ? Yeah  
> First chapter is the Hurt/Comfort, second one is the Hurt No Comfort/Argument, have fun !

Quackity would have directly gone to bed if it hadn't been for the lights that were still on in one of the rooms of the White House. The president's office, to be precise, which could only mean that either someone had broken in and was attempting to steal information, or Schlatt was working late. The second option seemed more likely, since it wasn't an unusual event, and he had caught the president hunched over papers at ungodly hours of the night several times already ; however, he still had to check, just to make sure that there wasn't an intruder in there. And well, he'd at least try to convince Schlatt to go to sleep if he was indeed the source of the light.

Walking in front of the door, he knocked lightly, even though he and whoever was behind that door were the only ones left in the building. It was dark after all, and he tended to attempt to limit the noise he produced at night, even when no one was around. A remnant of his childhood, maybe. His train of thought was interrupted by the "Yeah, come in !" that came from behind the door and he opened it, without reaching for the sword hanging on his side since he had recognized the voice.

As he had expected, the only person in the room was Schlatt. What he hadn't expected, though, was seeing him standing in front of his window, seemingly deep in thought, his back turned to the newcomer. He had to hear him stepping in, though, because he turned around, his face looking as smug as it always did.

"Hey, _guapito_. What are you doing in here so late ?"

"I could ask you the exact same question, _mi amor_ ," Quackity replied with a smirk, "and I would actually have the right to do it, unlike you."

The horned man just chuckled and walked to his desk then sat down, before taking a bottle of alcohol out of under said desk. Wine, said the tag.

"Come on, Big Q, I'm working. You can't accuse me of doing my job, right ?"

Quackity raised his eyebrows, looking back and forth between the bottle and the man with an amused but concerned expression.

"I can and will, especially if you drink instead of actually working. Actually, you shouldn't work at such a time either. Don't you have any respect for your sleep schedule ?"

Of course, the president didn't listen to a word he had just said and poured himself a glass of wine, staring at his vice president mockingly as he slowly sipped the red liquid, daring him to try and stop him from doing so. Quackity just sighed, shaking his head in disapproval.

"It's fine, relax. I'll be there in the morning, ready to participate to whatever boring meeting we have planned for tomorrow."

The other man frowned.

"I'm not concerned for your work, babe, I'm concerned for your health. Between the drinking, the smoking and the getting little to no sleep, I think your body would beg you to stop if it could."

"Well too bad it can't, then, huh ?" Schlatt smirked. "You sure care an awful lot for a health that isn't yours, though."

Truly exasperating.

"Yeah, and you're lucky I care because apparently you can't do it yourself !"

Schlatt just snorted at that, before stacking a few papers that were lying on his desk and putting them away. In the process, though, he lost his smile, replaced by a pensive expression. Seeing him with a face that was decorated by neither his usual smug look nor the cold glare he used when he was angry felt really strange, which was what prompted Quackity to speak.

"Is there something wrong, babe ?"

The pet name seemed to amuse the man a little, but not enough for him to snap out of whatever thoughtful mood he was in. Instead, he just raised his head and opened his mouth a little, as if he wanted to say something, but stopped himself before the words could escape his lips.

"No, no, it's nothing. I was just wondering... no, no. Nevermind. Forget about it."

Well that was a first. Schlatt didn't hesitate, he always said what was on his mind, no matter who he hurt. What was he trying to say that troubled him so much ? Quackity just tilted his head, trying to encourage the president to keep talking, and the man sighed before pouring himself another glass of wine and swallowing it with a single gulp.

The words seemed to stumble out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"When are you going to betray me ?"

Quackity immediately froze in his spot, staring at the president in horror and confusion. Sure, he had thought of betraying the man somehow, of toppling him to keep the power over Manberg for him and himself alone, but those had always been very vague ideas, and he had never actually worded them out loud, nor had he spoken to anyone about it. Why, then, was Schlatt speaking in such a resigned tone ? Had someone lied to him about a potential Quackity-led rebellion ? Or did he think he acted suspicious for some reason ?

"I'm... I'm not sure I understand, sir," he stuttered out in a whisper, his hand coming to rest on the pommel of his sword in a move of pure instinct. He had also instinctively understood that now wasn't a good time for affectionate nicknames.

Schlatt raised his head again, and it felt as if something in him had shattered. He didn't have that haughty, confident look and that mocking smirk he seemed to always wear whenever anyone saw him. No, something in his eyes seemed off, some light that had faded, some smugness that had gone extinct. He exuded an aura of sadness, of loneliness, that was so unusual on him that Quackity had to do a double take to make sure that he was speaking to the same person.

He felt almost... fragile. The big, powerful, evil Schlatt had just crumbled under his eyes, and he seemed more real, more human than he ever had.

"Come on, don't try to bullshit me, Quackity. Despite what everyone seems to think, I'm not blind, you know ?"

It was as if time had slowed down, and the vice president spent what felt like an eternity staring into his superior's pain-filled but resigned eyes. Those eyes that were staring at him, staring directly at his soul, silently requesting him to speak, to say something to defend himself. He stayed quiet.

"I mean, I already knew I wasn't going to be appreciated before the election even happened, but I thought I would at least try to do my best to help Manberg, yeah ? I thought- I thought I could at least make some things right, and maybe even, I don't know, become an ok president ? But nothing ever goes according to plan, does it ?" the man chuckled, looking down at his glass again.

"What..." His voice was shaky, he had to clear his throat to regain some kind of contenance, "What makes you think you can't do that ?"

Schlatt just smiled a little, but it was unlike any other smile Quackity had ever seen on him before. It wasn't the cocky smile from the day of the election, or the amused smile he had each time his vice president jokingly flirted with him, or even the cold and angry smile he kept plastered over his face when things didn't go his way or when he tried to intimidate his enemies. This smile was sad, infinitely sad, and yet resigned, as if he knew something bad was going to happen to him but had already accepted it.

"They're not exactly subtle, see." His tone was slightly colder than it was earlier, yet it kept that sorry, almost melancholic nuance. "I mean, you'd think that even though they're plotting right under my nose, they'd try to be a little inconspicuous about it, but I don't think they even care at this point."

'They', then. Who ? And most importantly, why had Schlatt accused him, then, if he actually wasn't included among them ?

"You think people are plotting against you, sir ? Who ?"

The horned man threw his hands in the air.

"Everyone ! Everyone here, in this government. Perhaps even in all of Manberg." His voice had gained a heat it was lacking before, though he wasn't exactly yelling yet. "Have you seen the looks on their faces on the day of the election ? The confusion, the horror, the anger ? Let's face it, Big Q, no one wants me here." His voice had quietened, barely a whisper as he concluded, "Not even you."

It felt... heartbreaking. Seeing the usually all-powerful, confident, fierce man, in such a vulnerable state... it was like a punch to the gut, a painful reminder that the person citizens liked to describe as the Devil was just a man, despite the cruelty he had displayed at times. This was an image that would ruin Schlatt's reputation if anyone else ever saw it, and yet despite the opportunities such an act could offer him, Quackity didn't want to share it with the world. It felt intimate, private, like the president was finally letting down some of his obsidian walls and allowing someone to see him for what he really was. It felt oddly comforting, and for a second he had the urge to hug his superior. He didn't, obviously. Especially since said superior was not done talking.

"You know, I don't regret banning Wilbur from Manberg. And I think you don't either, am I wrong ? Because you and I, we both know he wouldn't have accepted the result of the election. Hell, he hasn't, he just hasn't done anything about it yet. But Tommy ? Maybe I regret banning Tommy. Or maybe I regret not banning Tubbo."

Quackity's mouth went dry.

"You've noticed it too, haven't you ? His frequent trips to the outside of the city. His sudden disappearance from events. The way he looks around in panic when he's outside with us, and then randomly calms down. Or more accurately, suddenly calms down after seeing something, someone, on the top of a nearby building. Do they think I'm blind, or stupid ? Do they think I don't know about their clandestine trips into the city at night ? Does my own secretary of State think I don't know that he meets up with Wilbur and Tommy to discuss ways to take me down ?"

He voice had gone up in a crescendo, from a low growl to a bark of anger, as he enumerated the proofs he had of Tubbo's guilt. Quackity's stomach turned over as he realized that Schlatt's accusations were more than the ramblings of a drunk, paranoid man who had seen the stares and gone crazy from the pressure. No, he was lucid enough to actually see and take into account the events that had gone on around him, that he himself had chosen to overlook.

"And don't even get me started on the rest of my cabinet. On this diary Fundy keeps writing when he thinks I don't see him and hiding when he thinks I do. I guess I should have expected that coming from Wilbur's own son, huh ? Sly as a fox, as they say. Maybe burning the flag was an act of teenage rebellion, perhaps it was an attempt to trick me into believing he was on my side. But sooner or later, he's going to give that information he's been writing to Pogtopia, and I won't be surprised when that day will come.

"And George, huh ? George, who failed to show on the very day of the election ?" Quackity did resent him for that, actually, but that was besides the point. "He didn't exactly agree to our cooperation, did he ? Why is he still here, then ? Why isn't he back with his very best friend, mister Dream ? Oh, don't give me that look, we both know it isn't out of loyalty for you. We both know where his loyalty truly lies. It lies with Dream, and it always will, and if he's still here, it's purely for his profit, and nothing else. Let's face it, George is spying on us for Dream, just like Tubbo and Fundy are spying on us for Wilbur."

In any other condition, Quackity would have disagreed, would have argued that George was still there for him, because they had run for the election together and they would stick together even if their win wasn't a complete one.

He didn't. He didn't, because the look in Schlatt's eyes was too real, because his words were empty of their usual sickening, manipulating honey, because the look on his face didn't betray anything else than the truth behind his words, or at least a truth that he believed and that Quackity was starting to believe too.

"The citizens definitely don't like me, and they will take any opportunity they get to get rid of me ; Wilbur hates my guts and I'm pretty sure that Dream has been providing him with equipment so he isn't a reliable support either. Which leaves us with two people, Quackity."

Schlatt took the bottle of wine into his hand and examined it for a few secondes, letting a tense silence set in the room, before he poured himself another glass and raised it to his lips, his eyes closed, sipping very, very slowly.

He quietly set the glass on the table and opened his eyes, only for him to raise his head and stare straight into Quackity's eyes.

"You..." He began, resting his elbows on his desk and intertwining his hands, "And me," he finished as a smirk formed on his face, a smirk devoid of maliciousness and filled with the unhappy certainty of a man who had accepted the pitifulness of what he had just announced.

"So tell me, Quackity. When," he paused, "when are you going to betray me ?"

The vice president swallowed in fear. The yellow in Schlatt's eyes had never seemed as resigned yet as piercing, challenging him to defend himself, to say something to refute the accusations laid against him ; but the intensity of his stare was paralyzing, and even the cruel, victorious glare with which he had kicked the founding fathers of Manberg out of their own nation had felt less intimidating than this one.

"But- but why would I... why would I betray you, sir ?" His voice was shaky, his words hesitant. He hated it, he hated feeling so weak. "I don't- I don't have any intention to... do such a thing !"

"Is that true ? Is it, really ? You would gain entire authority over Manberg, though. And you would be a hero in the eyes of the people if you managed to get rid of me. I mean, isn't that what people do ? They use each other, for their satisfaction, their profit, and when they don't have any use for the other, they throw them away. Now that I've helped you get into the government, am I still useful to you ? Or have I become an obstacle ?"

Was Schlatt trying to get Quackity to betray him... ? That didn't make sense, yet none of his speech seemed to blame him for his hypothetical betrayal ; in fact, he was almost encouraging him.

"But, sir... why are you so convinced that I'm going to betray you ? Have I... done something wrong ?"

Schlatt's face softened a little, but his smirk paradoxically turned sour, as if he was displeased with something.

"No, no. You haven't. Yet."

"Then why ?"

Was that a glint of pain in his eyes ?

"Because no matter what I do, no matter what I say, people I get attached to always end up getting bored of me and stabbing me in the back."

A silence followed his declaration.

Schlatt's shoulders were slumped, his ears laid flat against his head, his eyes were down, staring holes at his desk. It felt like he had just confessed his most intimate feelings, and maybe he had, judging on the way his menacing aura had suddenly faded and the tense silence he had established, making him seem even more vulnerable than he had been earlier.

Then the weight of what he had just said hit Quackity like a train. 'People I get attached to" ? Did that include him, then ? The thought was a heartwarming one, but didn't do anything to tone down the alarming implications of the rest of the sentence. Had Schlatt been... betrayed already ? Multiple times ? By the people he had been attached to ? That did explain why he was so distrustful, so convinced that his vice president would betray him ; and it was heartbreaking.

"Mister president..."

Schlatt slammed his hand on his desk, making the other man jump in surprise, before standing up as fast as he could.

"Well ! That was a real nice moment there, Big Q, but I have stuff to do, so let's agree to never mention this ever again and I'd even be grateful if you could forget about it in the morning, 'k ?"

Quackity reached out purely out of instinct, without even having time to think about it ; his hand wrapped around Schlatt's wrist, who seemed startled by the contact.

"Schlatt, _mi amor_ , please-" The president's body tensed. "Ok, sorry, no pet names, but I'm begging you, please listen to me."

Schlatt didn't turn around but didn't make a move towards the door either, staying completely still, his head resolutely turned away from Quackity, as if he was afraid of looking at him.

"I... I won't betray you. I won't. And for what it's worth, I... think I got attached to you too. You don't have to worry about me telling people about what happened here, or- or using it to destroy you, or whatever you think might happen. I just... I'm glad you trust me enough to tell me this."

The horned man didn't say anything, but Quackity could feel him relaxing under his palm. He let go of his grip, and Schlatt made a step towards the door, before turning back and pulling his friend into an unexpected embrace.

Quackity froze at that, unsure of what the appropriate reaction would be, but he eventually wrapped his arms around the other man's waist and rested his head on his shoulder. Yeah, the hug was kind of awkward, and Schlatt didn't seem to know what he was doing, and it lasted a little shorter than the vice-president would have liked, but it didn't really matter, because it felt nice, and they probably both had needed it.

Both of them took a step back and avoided each other's eyes for a few seconds, before Schlatt turned around and walked to his desk to pick up his whiskey bottle.

"That wasn't very professional of you, mister vice president," he finally declared, but there was none of the coldness of his words inside of his voice ; in fact, he almost sounded affectionate. "I'll see you in the morning ?"

For the first time in their discussion, Quackity smiled, a soft, happy smile.

"Sure, sir. Have a good night."

As he walked away, he felt a little lighter. Schlatt wasn't the monster everyone thought him to be, and he would keep that knowledge preciously, in his heart, along with the trust they were starting to build.

Perhaps this presidency would go well, after all.


	2. It felt wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the angst

Schlatt felt like he was going crazy. Perhaps he was. But he certainly didn't feel sane.

The past few days had been... exhausting. Both physically and mentally. The latter more than the former, though. Running around and making preparations for the festival was one thing, but actually living it had been a whole other challenge.

The morning after his discussion with Quackity, he had woken up in his bed, feeling neither quite refreshed nor quite happy, he was still pretty hungover after all, but still a little lighter than the day before. Or at least for a few hours.

Yeah, the illusion of having managed to create a bond with the man, some kind of trust, had been a comforting one ; but it had been cut short as he had stepped into the meeting room, as everyone's heads had turned towards him, as people had smiled, a forced, empty smile, the one that usually wouldn't have affected him.

Except on that very day, it had. Because up until then, he had been aware of the inevitable betrayals of the people surrounding him, and he had been ok with them because he had still been in some kind of denial, under the naive illusion that he wasn't that attached to them anyway and he would see them coming from a mile away. But now, things were different, because he had accepted his developing friendship with Quackity, because he had realized how much he actually meant to him, because being betrayed now would hurt so, so much, and his breath had hitched as he had met the man's eyes and smile and it had felt as fake as everyone else's, but it couldn't be, right ? Quackity appreciated him, he told him he wouldn't betray him, so he wasn't going to, right ? He didn't have to be suspicious of his vice president, perhaps the only man he would truthfully call his friend, right ? And yet even with the man's promise ringing in his ears, he felt horrible, because deep down he was absolutely certain that one day or another it would end badly, that Quackity would stick his sword into his back and leave him to die, just like everyone else wanted to, because no matter what Schlatt told himself, people would always, always deceive him and use him until they had no use for him anymore before throwing him away, and Quackity was no exception to that rule, and Quackity would sell him out to his enemies, and Quackity would get rid of him to take the power to himself, and Quackity was just pretending to be his friend to better betray him, and _Quackity_ -

On that day, he had taken a deep breath and walked over to his seat, trying his best to ignore the storm of thoughts that had been raging inside his head.

It hadn't stopped them from haunting him ever since.

Perhaps he was becoming paranoid, perhaps he was. But then again, he wasn't imagining Tubbo's frequent trips into the forest, or Fundy closing the book he had been writing in as soon as he saw him, or George walking away to take those frequent calls and returning with a smile on his face. He wasn't imagining the imminent betrayals of his staff, or the glares the people of Manberg sent his way each time he walked down the street, or the sightings of hooded silhouettes roaming through the city at night. He had reasons to be on his guard.

Except for Quackity, because Quackity seemed immaculate, and Schlatt had no proof that he was plotting against him, and it was driving him mad.

Being aware that his entourage was planning on toppling him sucked. But the uncertainty surrounding the potential betrayal of the person he was closest to was definitely worse, because there was no way he was letting it go. Because each day, he saw the familiar face of his president, and half of his brain softened a little at that while the other one screamed that it was a trap, that he was falling right into it and that he would always end up alone and in pain.

And each day, the second half got louder.

So he had attempted to do something about it, to ease his irrational fear and get it back under control.

The festival of Manberg.

Officially a success, of course.

But really, it had been a disaster for everyone, including Schlatt.

It had been supposed to be a great event. To be a message to his people. If they didn't listen when he tried to do good, if he couldn't earn their respect, then he would make them fear him.

He had asked Tubbo to come up on the stage, before executing him in front of everyone.

It had been supposed to be a message.

"I'm not afraid. If you go against me, you will have to answer for your actions, and I will not be merciful."

It had been supposed to make things better.

Everything had gone south the moment Technoblade had pressed the trigger.

Wilbur was becoming crazier than he ever had, and even Tommy's hold on him was getting weaker as the younger one's fury had grown stronger.

His secretary of State had run into the forest as soon as he had been able to, presumably to join his friends.

The citizens were angrier than ever, and he could swear he heard them growl each time he passed one of them.

The entire government of Manberg resented him for his actions, and none of them even bothered to smile at him when he entered a room anymore.

And Quackity ?

God, he had to hate him. On the evening of the festival, he had stormed into his office, yelling at him that he had gone too far, that Tubbo was still a child, and that he wouldn't endorse such a behavior or stay much longer if he continued to act like this.

Schlatt had brushed it off, along with the pain coming from his own heart as he had looked into his vice-president's eyes and seen pure, cold anger.

He wasn't sure why Quackity had stayed after that, but he had. Perhaps he hadn't wanted to break his promise. Perhaps he had felt like he could act as a catalyst for Schlatt's extreme actions. Who knows ? But even though he should have been glad the man hadn't straight-up left, the president hadn't been able to see anything but the subtle changes in his 'friend''s behavior. The way he tensed a little when Schlatt touched his shoulder ; the way his smile faded when he thought he couldn't see him anymore ; the "senile old man" muttered under his breath as he walked away from him.

It hurt. So much.

And Schlatt didn't even feel any better, because he had fucked up, arranged absolutely nothing, and now he couldn't even try to convince himself that Quackity was his friend and wouldn't hurt him.

He couldn't even try to comfort himself after waking up and realizing that Quackity wasn't actually standing next to his damaged body, a boot on his chest, pressing down until he started having troubles to breathe.

He couldn't escape his intrusive thoughts anymore, and he hated it.

Each little thing he saw somehow reminded him of Quackity and his inevitable betrayal. The bottle he had taken away from him, the sweater lying down on a chair, the picture he had taken of them after they had won the election.

The White House he spent most of his days in.

Even just standing in his office felt suffocating, and so did sitting in the meeting room. It was like a reminder of what he had had, what he could have had if he had taken another path, made another choice. He had won the election thanks to Quackity, he worked with Quackity, he spent lost of his days in a building Quackity had built, but Quackity himself despised him.

He kept staying late to fill in paperwork, but no one came to gently knock on his door at eleven in the evening anymore. There was no one to tell him to eat, to go to sleep, to save him from himself. He was doing worse physically, too. He didn't get nearly enough sleep, and had to cover the darkening of his eyebags with makeup. He took less time to take care of himself, and it showed in his more unkempt hair and messy facial hair. In his loss of weight, too. The bottles of alcohol were starting to pile up in a corner of his office, and the stench of smoke had become a permanent one around there.

He had thought he could take care of himself, but clearly, he was still weak. Weak enough to become overjoyed at the first signs of friendship and get destroyed by the inevitable failure of said friendship, despite the amount of abandonment he had already faced. He was weak, he was pitiful, he was miserable.

He had to do something to get out of there. To breathe again. He couldn't afford to get slowed down by his feelings, by his attachment to the people who hated his guts.

He grabbed a pickaxe as he stepped out of his house.

Each step on the way to the White House felt heavier than the previous one. He wanted nothing more than to go back, give up on his stupid idea, walk inside the building as he always did and find another way to end this.

He didn't.

When he arrived, Quackity was standing in front of the White House, his back turned towards Schlatt and his hands stuffed inside his pockets, looking up and down at the building as if he was admiring it. He turned around as the horned man approached, having presumably heard the sound of his steps ; he had a smile, but one that didn't reach his eyes. It was a fake smile, a façade he used to deceive the president, to mask his true disgust, his true disdain.

The tiny bit of reason Schlatt had managed to preserve, the tiny voice yelling at him to stop what he was doing, the tiny part of his brain that knew his actions were in no way going to make the situation better broke.

"Hey, sir," Quackity greeted with a falsely enthusiast voice, before he glanced at the tool Schlatt was still holding. "What's with the pickaxe ?"

"Grab yours, loser. We're tearing down the White House."

Schlatt heard himself talking without really realizing he was ; what he did realize, though, what he did see, was the way Quackity's smile turned into a gasp, the way he frowned, the way his whole face became painted in confusion and consternation.

"... I'm sorry, what ?"

"I said, we're tearing the White House down. Come on, let's go !"

There wasn't a single trace of enthusiasm, fake or not, left on the vice-president's face as he walked over to his superior.

"What ? No no no, wait- wait, you can't just do that !"

"Let's go, let's go !" Schlatt continued, ignoring the other man's protests as he walked past him, stopping right in front of the building.

"No no no, dude !"

"The White House is coming down !" he cheered, ignoring the bitter taste the word had in his mouth.

"Stop ! Fucking stop !" Quackity had gone past shock, his words were angry and so was he. "You can't just fucking do that !"

Schlatt just raised his pickaxe. "You bet I can, watch, it's coming down right... now !"

The pickaxe hit the wall brutally, tearing the stones apart, as well as both Schlatt and Quackity's hearts, with a sickening crack. It felt right, it felt wrong.

Quackity screamed in horror. "Dude, don't- don't take it down, I fucking built it myself !"

Each word that got out of his mouth added to the pain Schlatt was already feeling - yet it felt right, it felt satisfying... didn't it ?

Another hit, another part of the wall breaking down. Quackity never stopped talking, a litany of "No, stop, don't" escaping his mouth as he clearly panicked, each one a little heavier, a little louder.

"Come on, get mining, Quackity !" His voice didn't feel the same at this point, it was filled with a cruelty that he didn't actually feel, a madness that wasn't his... was it ? He didn't even think about what he was saying anymore, the words just escaping his mouth without him having any kind of control over it.

"Stop, stop, fucking stop dude ! I fucking built that myself- do you realize how much time I spent on that ? How much it matters to me ??" His words were desperate, as were his movements as he grabbed Schlatt's shoulder in a futile attempt to stop him from doing any further damage.

The president hadn't expected the contact, though, and he turned around in a fury before pushing Quackity away, perhaps with too much strength. The vice president fell to the ground, managing to slow down his fall but hurting his hands in the process. He looked up at Schlatt, and in that instant the pain and despair he saw in his eyes was almost enough to make him drop his pickaxe. Almost. It felt right, it felt wrong, _it felt right, it felt wrong._

"I'm in charge," he snarled to push back his feelings, "I decide whatever we're doing, and now we're taking this shit down so help me mine it. God, I'm surrounded by fucking idiots," he added loud enough for Quackity to hear it. A part of him instantly regretted it, but the loudest just wanted him to hurt, hurt like he had hurt him.

"What ? No no no, you're not in charge," the man replied with fury, "we're in charge, I'm your vice president, we charge these fucking decisions together !"

Schlatt ignored him again, muttering a few "No" under his breath. Both of them gasped when he kicked down the door of the building, the joints cracking under his foot, revealing the hallway.

"Stop it, dude !" Quackity yelled in pain, so much pain that Schlatt stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly turned around.

Facing his vice president had never been harder than it was at that moment. His eyes seemed to barely contain a storm of terror, horror, confusion, rage and despair. Schlatt couldn't remember ever seeing anyone in such a state. Quackity was barely holding on, his legs shaking, his right hand holding his left arm where he probably had hurt himself when he had fallen on the ground.

It felt right, it felt wrong, it felt right, it felt wrong, it felt-

It hurt it hurt it hurt.

He was too far gone.

There was no stopping now.

"What are you gonna do about it anyway, huh ? Cry about it ? Cry like the child you are ? Boohoo, Flatty Patty, get the fuck up and get mining !"

He didn't know when he had started to raise his voice. He hadn't wanted to. But now Quackity was curling up under his words, tears starting to form at the corner of his eyes, and he should stop, he wanted to stop, but he couldn't, not when it felt so liberating, not when it felt so painful, not when-

"Why are you doing this ? Why ? To assert your dominance ?"

"Jesus Christ, stop fucking whining and get to work !"

Schlatt turned around again and raised his pickaxe, preparing to hit the wall again.

A whisper.

"You're a monster."

Was it the words ? Was it the sob they contained ? Was it the realization that the one friendship Schlatt had been able to start to build since his arrival in Manberg was truly over ?

His pickaxe fell to the ground.

His heart shattered inside his chest.

What was he doing ? Why was he doing this ? Why was he hurting the only person who had seemed to care about him ? Why did he destroy everything he touched ?

His legs felt weak, his hands felt weak, in that instant he wanted nothing more than to crumble, to fall to his knees and stop moving, stop thinking, stop doing everything wrong and hurting afterwards.

But there was no way out of this.

There was no way he could make things right again.

Then again, why did it matter ? Quackity was going to betray him, right ? So he had to have made the right choice, right ?

He...

Maybe...

Maybe he really was a monster.

Maybe the villagers hadn't been wrong. Maybe Wilbur hadn't been wrong. Maybe Quackity wasn't wrong.

He truly was a monster.

... well, then.

Time to act like one, right ?

"Is that so ?"

His voice felt venomous to his own ears ; he could have sworn he felt Quackity wince behind his back.

"Monster, huh ? What a big word."

He turned around once again, walking towards Quackity wih a wicked grin across his face ; he felt intimidating, and he was, judging on the man's widened eyes and panicked gasp. His steps were heavy, slow, confident.

"Tell me, Quackity. You think I am a monster ? You think I'm going to devour your soul ? To take control of this nation and turn it into a living hell ? Huh ? Please, do elaborate."

"Please, I- I didn't- I didn't mean it, I," the man panicked, words escaping his mouth without making any sense, as he scrambled back on his feet and took a step back.

"You didn't mean it ? Didn't you ? Oh, look at you. Poor, poor, Quackity. You won't even look me in the eyes. You won't even speak back to me. Do you know what that is, Quackity ? Weakness. Cowardice."

Both of their breaths were fast, too fast. Quackity's hand went to his crossbow, that was resting on his side. Schlatt just laughed, a smug, dark sound escaping his mouth.

"Oh, you wee lamb. Trying to defend yourself ? Let's be honest here, Quackity. You don't have the balls to do that. You don't have the balls to aim your crossbow at me and shoot me. You'd instantly kill me if you did, you know that, right ? But you won't. You're too much. Of. A. Pussy."

It felt right it felt wrong _itfeltrightitfeltwrongwrongwrongwrongwrong_ -

"Now get the fuck up and help me mine this shit before I get truly angry."

He was having troubles breathing now. He was suffocating. He was barely conscious of what he was doing or saying. He felt numb, so numb. He felt himself pick up his pickaxe without actually doing it himself. He let his feet lead him to the White House without thinking of it.

The arrow stroke him right in the middle of his back.

Time stopped.

He tripped, or maybe his legs just weren't able to bear his weight anymore.

It was curious, really. He had felt the initial pain of getting shot, but he couldn't feel anything else anymore.

As he fell, he glanced behind his back.

Quackity just stood there, the arm holding his crossbow still raised, his eyes still widened in horror and tears streaming down his face, as if he hadn't fully realized what he had done yet.

Both the crossbow and Schlatt fell to the ground at the same time.

As his consciousness slipped away from his grasp, the president could only witness the other man stepping back, covering his mouth with his hands as the shock of the realization hit him like a train, then turning around and running as fast as he could, fleeing from the scene of his crime.

He was going to escape into the forest.

Schlatt wasn't sure what to think about that.

He fainted.

He woke up in his bed a few minutes later, finally feeling the pain that was supposed to be coursing through his back.

He couldn't remember a single thing for a second, but got hit hard by the memories as they came back to him.

So he had done it, huh ?

He had successfully managed to get rid of a traitor ; there was no way Quackity was coming back after pulling such a stunt, and if he did dare to show his face around there again, he would be taken down on sight.

He was free of his lies, of his deception, of his fake friendship, right ?

He had done what he had to, right ?

So he felt right, didn't he ?

Didn't it feel right ?

It felt right, it had to.

It felt right.

_It felt right it felt right itfeltrightitfeltright- ___

__It-_ _

__He..._ _

_He was going to throw up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy... can't wait for the War today.


End file.
